Rancher and Protector

“Not yet,” Colt said. “Next year.”

Jarrod huffed, conveying all too clearly, Yeah, that’s what they all say.

“Well, I better head up to Gil’s office,” Amber said.

“I’ll walk with you,” Jarrod announced.

“You coming back?” Colt asked before she could turn away.

“Depends on what Gil wants.”

Colt’s eyes narrowed. Amber knew exactly what he was thinking.

Chicken.

“YOU NEEDED TO SEE ME?” Amber said, entering Gil’s office tentatively. The way he was bent over his massive oak desk, she could see the horseshoe of hair around his shiny pate.

“Amber,” he said, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses back up his nose. “Come on in.”

They were in a centuries-old lodge, one that had been erected to house cavalry offices well over a hundred years ago. Frankly, it amazed Amber that the place was still standing, but it had been crafted in an era when things were made to last. Vaulted ceilings. Crown molding. Wood-paneled walls. The four-story building had been meticulously maintained by the County of San Francisco, and that was a good thing. It would have been a shame to let such a treasure go to waste. That had been Camp Cowboy’s selling point to the county when they’d wanted to lease the building. Apparently. As a newbie, she was still piecing together this business and how it could exist on the Presidio grounds.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Have a seat,” he said.

Gil’s office was on the bottom floor, to the left of the entrance, in a room Amber suspected had been occupied by the base commander years and years ago—or whatever the cavalry equivalent of that was. Wood-framed windows offered a stunning view of the park outside. Off in the distance was a grove of trees, and just above that, barely noticeably unless you knew what you were looking for, the tall spires of the Golden Gate Bridge.

“I received a call today,” Gil said, leaning back and making a steeple out of his fingers.

There was a chair in front of his desk. Amber sank into it. “Oh, yeah?” But she knew.

“It was from Pelican Bay.”

Her shoulders slumped. “He phoned here?”

“Care to tell me what’s going on?”

She hadn’t told Gil about Dee’s father. Hadn’t wanted to tell him. It was her own personal skeleton. All the camp director knew was that she had sole custody of her nephew. That Dee’s father was out of the picture.

“Who is he?” Gil asked.

“My nephew’s father,” Amber admitted.

The edges of Gil’s eyes crinkled as he gave that some thought. “So this is what you meant by out of the picture?”

She nodded. “He was incarcerated for involuntary manslaughter.”

Of her sister. Sharron.

And it made her physically ill to think about it. To be pulled back to that night. The call from the police. The drive to the hospital. The doctor gently breaking the news.

Frankly, jail had been too kind a punishment for her ex-brother-in-law.

“When will he get out?” Gil asked.

“He was given a five year sentence. He has two years left to serve.” But he had a parole hearing in another month. They might actually let the bastard out. And then he would fight her for custody of Dee. He’d already told her that. But she would never let that happen. She would not allow the man who killed her sister to kill her sister’s child, too.

“Okay,” Gil said. “So I should expect calls from him?”

“I told him not to phone me,” she said. “But he’s been demanding to know where Dee is.”

“You mean he doesn’t know?”

She shook her head. “Early on, he would call Dee. When Dee wouldn’t talk to him, he would get belligerent, start yelling.” And her poor nephew didn’t do well with that. Not at all. “It would upset Dee,” she explained. “I told the facility not to take his calls anymore, but when Dee’s father started making threats against the workers there …” Gosh, she hated airing her dirty laundry. “It was just easier to move Dee to a new home, especially once we figured out he was nonverbal. He’s been at Little Voices ever since, and he’s doing well. His father doesn’t need to know anything more than that.”

But one day he would be out of jail.

She closed her eyes, refusing to think of that.

“This is hard on you, isn’t it?” Gil asked.

She shrugged, trying to make light of the situation, but it was a sham. “It kills me some days,” she admitted. “But I have to have Dee’s best interest at heart.”

Gil seemed satisfied with the answer. “Well, I’ll tell the switchboard to put all calls through to you.”

“Thank you,” she said. “And if you could please make sure nobody knows Dee is my nephew …”

“Confidentiality is the policy of this facility,” Gil said sternly.

“Yes, of course.” She was counting on that.

“But I do wonder if telling his father that Dee is here with you might be a good thing. Surely he would settle down if you told him the lengths you’ve gone though to help his son.”

“No,” she said. “I tried that route before. Dee’s father doesn’t trust me. He thinks I hate him.”

And she did … didn’t she?

No. She didn’t hate anybody. She just didn’t trust him. He might make claims that he’d changed, but she knew that wasn’t true. A leopard didn’t change its spots.

“Well then,” Gil said, “I’ll respect your need for privacy.”

“Thank you.”

“But if this doesn’t work out, if your nephew doesn’t respond to therapy like you hope, what will you do then?”

She’d thought about that at least a half dozen times since taking a leave of absence from work to train at Camp Cowboy. What if this was a mistake? What if Dee didn’t respond to horse therapy as she hoped?

“Either way, learning a little about hippotherapy is a good thing,” she said. “Who knows where it might take me?” She glanced down at her lap for a moment. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to help my nephew. If this doesn’t work out …” she shrugged again. “Well, I’ll just try something else.”

Gil nodded, smiling. “Good. I’m glad you’re not looking at this like it might be an answer to your prayers. One never knows how an autistic child will respond.”

“I know.”

“Then I wish you luck,” he said, standing.

Luck. Yeah, she would need that.

Chapter Three

She was in a meeting, Colt thought, heart pounding, as he put Flash away. He would never have a better opportunity to search through her belongings than right now.

But the idea filled him with a sense of anxiety and dread.

His fingers shook as he unclipped Flash’s halter. The camp wasn’t fully staffed yet. He’d been told most of the live-ins would arrive tomorrow. That meant fewer people around today.

He had to investigate now.

His stomach roiled as he left the stables. “The lodge,” as staffers called it, looked like it belonged on a dollar bill: Georgian-style roof, sash windows, wide steps leading up to the entrance. It had been built on a slight incline, with a pebbled road leading up to it. Those employees who would be driving in Monday would park around back, but for now, the place looked deserted.

Colt took the steps two at a time, feeling sick with trepidation. The lodge had double doors at the entrance, but only the right side worked. Colt saw movement on the other side of the frosted glass. He knew Gil’s office was to the left, and when he stepped inside, that door was closed.

Good. Amber was still in her meeting.

“That was fast.”

Colt jerked his gaze to the right, to find Jim or Jerry or whatever his name was sitting there. In the cafeteria, actually, although the spacious room with the hardwood floors looked more like a ballroom, except for the tables and chairs.

“No reason to stick around at the stables if there’s nothing to do.” The horse therapist Amber had introduced him to earlier looked skeptical.

“Don’t you have to feed stock or something?”

The guy—Jarrod, he suddenly remembered—was obnoxious. Colt had no idea what he’d done to garner such animosity, but it was obvious they hadn’t hit it off. “Not for another hour,” he said, moving past the cafeteria without another word. There was an elevator in the left-hand corner of the foyer—a recent addition by the looks of it. He ignored it and took the steps directly ahead. The staff would all be living coed style, which, for all he knew, meant Amber could be bunking right next to him.

She wasn’t.

He checked the room chart hanging at the end of the hall. Room seven. He was in room three, which meant he had to walk by his own room, which meant—

Woof!

“Mac,” Colt warned. “Quiet.”

But his dog had caught his scent. White-and-black paws scratched at the door. Colt could just make them out through the crack. Terrific. He’d insisted the animal wouldn’t be a problem, but Gil had warned that if Mac disturbed any of the residents, Colt would have to board him at a kennel—an option he couldn’t afford.

“Quiet!” He glanced left and right as he walked on. A few of the doors were open, but he didn’t see anyone. The place reminded him of a hospital ward. Utilitarian was the word. No frills here.

Her door was closed.

He peeked over his shoulder, grateful that nobody was around, but when it came time to actually grasp the doorknob, he hesitated.

Woof.

“Mac,” he called out. He opened the door and stepped inside before he could change his mind. If someone heard his dog and came to investigate, they’d see him standing there. Not good. But once inside her room, he froze.

He hated this.

Just do it.

Forcing himself to relax, he scanned her room. Bed to his left. Table and chairs to his right. There was a purse sitting on the brown seat, clearly open.

Go.

But he couldn’t. He wasn’t cut out for this, he realized. The idea of rummaging through her things …

He just couldn’t do it. He swung around, and came face-to-face with Amber.

“What the heck are you doing in here?” she said, her blue eyes wide with surprise.

“I … uh …” Damn it. He couldn’t think. “I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize? For what?”

“Earlier,” he improvised. And he hated it. Lying wasn’t in his nature. “For forcing you to get on Flash.”

“You didn’t force me,” she said, crossing her arms. “I didn’t ride at all.” With the window behind him and the sunlight pouring over her, her eyes seemed to glow. As did her hair. He found himself forgetting for a moment what he’d come here to do.

“You would have if we hadn’t been interrupted. And I was pushy about the whole thing.”

“I didn’t notice,” she said, but he knew she lied.

Colt shook his head, hoping she didn’t see guilt on his face. “I, uh, I spend a lot of time working out of doors. With men. On ranches. I guess I just forgot you weren’t one of my crew.” That, at least, was true. So far he hadn’t lied to her. Not really. And he hadn’t rummaged through her belongings.

“You don’t have a girlfriend?”

“No,” he said quickly.

Her lips twitched, as if she was about to ask him a question, but she must have changed her mind.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked, to fill the quiet.

Now why’d you go and say that?

“Boyfriend?” She laughed. “Hah. Who has time for that? Between my job and my …”

He waited for her to say the word nephew.

“… crazy life,” she said instead, “I don’t have time for sleep, much less a boyfriend.”

“Your life’s crazy?”

But she wasn’t budging. He could see that. “It is,” she said, swinging open the door pointedly. “Anyway, apology accepted.”

“Can we try again tomorrow?”

She raised her eyebrows. “You mean ride?”

He nodded.

She licked her lips. And suddenly he found himself thinking less about subterfuge and more about the shape of those lips.

“Let me think about it,” she said.

He didn’t move, even though it was obvious she wanted him to leave. But he couldn’t do that. If he couldn’t bring himself to rummage through her belongings, he needed to come up with some other way to get the information out of her.

“Don’t chew it over too long,” he said, forcing himself to smile. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. From what I hear, things are going to get crazy on Monday.” He walked to the door, but didn’t leave. He turned to face her, effectively imprisoning her between his body and the wall.

“I want to help you,” he said.

“You do?”

Man, she was a pretty little thing. He couldn’t keep from staring at her mouth. “Let me coach you some more.”

She chewed the inside of her lip. She looked adorable when she did that. Like a kid trying to determine if she wanted vanilla ice cream or chocolate.

“What time were you thinking?” she asked.

“Maybe around ten or so?” he said, cursing inwardly. She was not to be trusted. “I’m supposed to do some things around the barn tomorrow. So after that?”

She seemed to think about it for a moment. “All right. Tomorrow.”

“See you then,” he said, because he knew if he didn’t leave right then, he might do something he would regret. And that wouldn’t be good. Logan had told him exactly how horrible this woman really was.

SEE YOU THEN.

Lord, her sister would be laughing her head off if she knew the direction of Amber’s thoughts.

A cowboy.

“Brother,” she murmured, dropping onto the bed.

But she didn’t get much sleep that night. She told herself she could bug out on Colt, maybe go down and try to halter and work with Flash on her own. But that would be silly. She didn’t want to get hurt. She wanted to learn.

The other option was asking Jarrod, but something about the guy’s attitude really rubbed her the wrong way. At least Colt seemed genuine.

So she showed up in her jeans and a sweatshirt. While the day had dawned overcast and cold—typical January weather—the fog had burned off, leaving bright blue skies behind, although it was still a bit chilly. When she arrived at the stables, she was startled to see Flash already tied out front, and that Colt wasn’t alone.

“Mac,” he called to the dog, which stood up when he saw her.

“You have a dog?” she asked in shock.

“I do.”

“Hey, there,” she said, squatting.

“Mac!”

But the dog didn’t listen. As if he’d been waiting for just such an invitation, he charged.

“Damn it, Mac!”

But Amber didn’t mind. She held out her arms, thoroughly enchanted with the gray-black-and-brown animal. He had no tail. It’d been cropped at some point, but that didn’t stop his rear end from swinging back and forth.

“What kind of dog is he?”

“Australian shepherd,” Colt said. “And I’m about to deport him back to his homeland.” He stomped forward.

“No, it’s okay,” she said, staving him off with a hand. “I love dogs.”

“You do?”

“I do,” she exclaimed, plunging her hands into the shepherd’s thick fur and giving him a good scratch. Mac fairly moaned. “Such pretty eyes,” she cooed. They were blue. Blue like the water in Crater Lake. “But where have you been keeping him?”

“In my room,” he said. “Gil told me that was okay as long as he didn’t cause trouble.”

“What?” she said in mock surprise. “Mac, cause trouble? Nah.” She smiled at the animal.

When she stood up, she found Colt staring at her, and she felt self-conscious all of a sudden. “I see you got Flash ready.”

“Uh, yeah. Hope you don’t mind. I didn’t see any good reason to torture you by making you halter the animal. I want you to enjoy yourself today.”

“Thanks,” she said, her relief so great she almost hugged him.

“Come on, Mac.”

“Where are you putting him?”

“In one of the empty stalls. I don’t want him getting under your feet. Go on in and get some brushes,” Colt added. “I’ll be right back.”

She did so, thinking In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Don’t those hard bristles hurt?” she asked when he came back out.

“No, not like that.” Colt took the brush from her hand. She felt the jolt of their fingers meeting like a static charge.

“And horses actually like it,” he said.

As he moved closer, Amber found herself wanting to edge away.

“Use long strokes,” Colt instructed, his gaze hooking her own. “Start at his neck and work your way back. Sometimes it’s easier to use a currycomb first. That’ll knock the hair loose.”

“And a currycomb looks like … what, exactly?”

Colt bent and pulled something out of the bucket that caused her to say, “Ouch. Now that can’t feel good.” It looked like a lollipop, only the “pop” part was made of metal. And it had teeth. Sharp, pointed teeth.

“You’d be surprised what feels good to a horse.”

She eyed the animal. “Actually, given that I know absolutely nothing about them, I don’t think anything would surprise me. How do I use the currycomb?”

“Move it in circular patterns.”

She nodded. “Wax on. Wax off.”

“Excuse me?”

“Karate Kid. Haven’t you ever seen that movie?”

Colt stared down at her as if he’d never heard of anything remotely related to karate—movies or otherwise—in his life, but that didn’t dissuade her.

“Sensei tell you to wax on, wax off,” she said.

But all Colt did was stare. The man was about as warm and as friendly as Mount Everest.

“Once you’re done,” he said, “follow up with the brush. I’m going to go get the tack.”

She gave the brush a hard flick, and was immediately rewarded by a cloud of dust and dander. She coughed, waving a hand in front of her face, although the smell of horse wasn’t all that unpleasant. And the animal seemed to have calmed down. His head hung low, his brown eyes half-closed, as if he was falling asleep at the hitching post. Hmm. Maybe this wouldn’t be as scary as she thought.

“You done?”

“No,” Amber said in exasperation. “And please don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Colt dropped the saddle and hung the bridle on the end of the post Flash was tied to. “Here,” he said, “I’ll do the other side.”

And that was how Amber found herself quietly grooming a horse—because Mr. Colt Sheridan appeared to be the tall, dark and silent type. But that was okay. It gave her time to think.

Dee would be arriving soon, although no one could make the connection. Her nephew’s birth certificate said Rudolph, a result of Sharron’s twisted sense of humor, when he’d been born on Christmas Day. But everybody, including his father, called him Rudy, and that suited Amber just fine. Logan had been begging to see him again, and Amber just couldn’t do that to her nephew. The last time they’d been to visit it had been so horrible. Dee had gone into meltdown. Logan had grown irate. The supervising officer had had to intervene…. Horrible. All the proof she needed that her brother-in-law hadn’t changed, not one whit.

“So what made you want to work with special needs children?”

She again waved a hand in front of her face as dust tickled her nose. “It’s a long story.”

Colt continued grooming Flash, although she could swear he was trying to denude the beast. Dander and hair were flying. Thank goodness she wasn’t allergic to horses.

“I’ve got all the time in the world,” he said, his eyes meeting hers for a moment.

“No, really,” she said.

“You like kids, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” she answered quickly.

“Do you want any of your own?”

He hadn’t stopped brushing, but she could feel him glancing at her. Every time he did, it was like warm flashes of sunlight touched her—which, honestly, was a strange thing to think.

“Someday,” she said. “How about you? What made you want to work for Camp Cowboy?”

“I didn’t.”

That made her stop brushing for a second. “Excuse me?”

“I heard about this place from a friend. He told me I should apply. So I did.”

She didn’t know why that stunned her, but it did. She’d just assumed everyone who worked at Camp Cowboy had done so out of a need to serve. To make the world a better place. To reach out and maybe help a child.

Her life’s mission, thanks to Dee.

“So if your friend hadn’t suggested you apply, you’d have … what?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what I would have done for cash. Found something else.”

“But you wanted to work with special needs kids, didn’t you?”

She could tell he didn’t want to answer her question because his eyes flicked over Flash as he groomed, then to her, then back again. “My first love is rodeo,” he admitted.

Of course. She should have known.

Just like her sister’s husband.

Amber was certain the rodeo lifestyle had corrupted Logan to the point of no return. Cowboys boozed it up and chased women. That’s what her sister said, and Amber believed it. “I know someone who used to do that.”

“Yeah?” Colt asked.

But she wasn’t ready to answer questions about Dee’s father, even though she was curious if the two knew each other. The man was better off gone from their lives, something that was hard to explain to strangers.

“Please tell me you at least like kids?” she replied, trying to change the subject.

He paused. “Kids and I don’t get along.”

Her body turned into a pillar of salt—or so it felt. “What the heck are you doing here then?”

He looked her right in the eye. She watched as he tried to find the words. In the end he simply shrugged and said, “Searching for something.”

Chapter Four

Now why the heck had he gone and said that? he wondered, flicking the brush over Flash’s back harder than necessary. Flash pinned his ears, and Cold patted his rump in apology.

“Searching for what?” she asked, clearly curious.

“I don’t know,” he hedged, then shrugged. “But the rodeo life, it’s getting hard.”

That’s why he had to do this. Time was running out—and she was his ticket to the big leagues.

“So quit,” she suggested.

“No,” he said. “Not yet.”

Because he could still do this thing. He just needed to figure out a way to discover where Rudy was without feeling like a complete jerk in the process.

You are a jerk.

Amber was shaking her head, and he could tell she didn’t like his answer. Not only that, but she almost appeared disappointed.

“Okay,” she said brightly—too brightly. “What’s next?”

He wondered if he should push the issue. Ask her about the guy she knew on the rodeo circuit. Logan. It had to be Logan. It was the perfect way to get her to talk. That’s what he should do. Instead, he found himself gesturing with his chin. “Saddle first, then bridle.”

“And how do you do that?”

“Here.” He scooped up the saddle blanket. “This goes on first.” He made sure it was placed squarely. “Then the saddle,” he said, swinging it onto the horse’s back.

“How come I have this feeling it’s a lot harder than it looks?”

He pulled the saddle off and demonstrated again. But the whole time he worked with her, he found himself wondering if Logan might be wrong about her. Was that possible? Was there more to the story than met the eye? And why the hell did Colt keep thinking about his ranch all of a sudden? He hadn’t been back to Texas in years, not since he was seventeen….

Don’t go down that road again, buddy.

“Is that thing going in there?” she asked.

They’d reached the part where it was time to bridle the horse. Colt realized it was the bit she was staring at.

“It is,” he said, telling himself to smile. Except he couldn’t bring himself to do much more than say, “Don’t worry. Doesn’t hurt. He knows the deal. Watch.” He showed her how Flash had been taught to take the bit.